Only Forever

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

NOTE TO READERS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

COPYRIGHT

ONLY FOREVER

ONLY SERIES: VOLUME FOUR

CRISTIN HARBER

CHAPTER ONE

One Hour Earlier…

Emma

Wednesday night at Emerald’s is always packed. Even as I spin circles in my chair, I know that telling Bruno at the last minute is a bad idea. I could fake sick, and then he would
have
to let one of the other girls take my time on stage. But when have I not been honest with him? Never. I think back to my birthday card, in which he mentioned business opportunities. That could be a great conversation opener. Actually, the more I think about that, the more I hope he’ll somehow respect my short-notice request.

I don’t want to dance anymore. My man is home.
Maybe he’ll understand that.

Then again, I don’t know. Bottom dollar is what makes Bruno tick, and me announcing that I quit at the last minute won’t be pretty. I’ll just ask him—
no
. This
is not
a request. I don’t have a contract, but a pukey nervousness is churning in my stomach. It’s only a job in an industry with very high turnover. That’s a fact of life. So, quitting is no big deal.

Right. I’m gonna puke all over my favorite black-velvet robe.

Ugh.
No, I’m not. But I could use some antacid because I’ve talked myself into believing this Bruno convo will be such a big deal that it’s almost ridiculous.

I take a deep breath and tighten the silk sash over the velvet. The robe reaches high on my neck and dramatically falls to the floor, trailing behind me when I walk on stage as if I’m a queen. It’s dramatic, sultry, and sexy. I’m at my best in this ensemble, enhancing it with long, feathery fake eyelashes, smoky makeup, and hair pinned up high. It’s a look that is so
not
me but somehow is more me than any other getup I’ve worn here. No crazy makeup, no spectacular wig—it’s just me tonight.

With my matching black heels that give me another six inches and make my little butt look like a serious booty, I make my way toward Bruno’s office. That’s not his normal hangout at night, but him being there
is
a sign that I’m supposed to find him to talk business. Rarely does he leave the floor when girls are on stage. When he does go backstage, everyone knows because his Rasta-bodybuilder security team tags along.

“Hey.” I stop in front of a big guy whom I secretly call Hercules.

“Hold up, Ginger.” His hand comes out to stop me.

“Bruno in his office?”

“He’s busy.”

My very shakable confidence is fading.
I quit. No dancing tonight. I have a boyfriend out of the blue and won’t do this behind his back.
Simple enough, but I have to tell Bruno
now
, or this will become a bigger problem. “Please. I’m short on time, and it’s important.”

He shakes his head. “Later.”

Shoot.
I square my shoulders back and lift my chin. My game face is on, and I’m ready to talk shop, even if I’m basically in my underwear and holding my favorite hooker heels. “Come on. I need to talk to him.” I give a
blink, blink
of the feathery eyelashes. The man doesn’t budge. “Please. It’s business.”
Business
is Bruno’s favorite word. No—
money
is his favorite word. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. “And it’s time sensitive.”

His brows bite together, his eyes wary. “Said he had business to talk with you?”

“Yup. I even got a formal invite for the conversation, so…” I gesture to his hand. “Can I get a pass?”

He turns sideways and speaks into his mic. “Bruno?” He shakes his head to say there’s no response—which is already obvious.

“Please,” I mouth. “So important.”

He studies me then nods. “Reggie, you back with Bruno?”

He waits, listening and nodding.

“Ginger says she has an invite.” After a long pause, he nods as if he’s agreeing with something. “Says a formal invite. So?” Seconds tick by. “Alright.”

He’s handsome, big, and looks like all of the rest of Emerald’s muscle men. We never shared more than a couple of polite words. I wouldn’t call us close friends, but when his eyes land on me, he’s… searching. A whole new type of worry mixes with what I’ve already got going on.

“You’re sure about this?” he asks.

I bite my lip. “Yes.”

“Alright, Ginger. If you’re sure.” Slowly, he takes a step back.

Jeez.

“Second door on the left.”

My eyes narrow as I recall the last time I was down here. That wasn’t where Bruno’s office was, but whatever. I pull a reassuring breath. Here I go. “Thanks.”

The hall’s lit poorly, and the walls are painted the color of red wine. I pass the door I recognize as Bruno’s office. It’s open and still very much looks like his in-use office. But farther down, voices murmur, and there are two security guards standing at the second door on the left. Both look at me with hard jaws and hesitant eyes.
Shit
.
What the hell is going on?
My stomach twists.

They silently step aside, and I move through the door. There’s a velvet curtain that I pull aside and—

What is all this?
A plain stage sits in the middle of an open room. The walls look partitioned, and they are deeply shaded. In the middle of the room, in nothing but a thong and heels, is a girl I’ve never seen before. She’s so young. Like,
so
young. She poses, jutting her hip out as if she’s modeling, but there’s an uncomfortable vibe in the room.

“Sold!” A low voice I don’t recognize scares the shit out of me, and I jump, only to have a hand wrap around my mouth. I’m yanked against a stout body and dragged into a dark alcove. As quickly as we go, my eyes can’t adjust. I can’t see anything, but I recognize the scent of Bruno’s clove cigarettes.

“What are you doing in here?” he hisses at me then drops his hand from my mouth, spins me around, and grips my shoulders. His fingers bite into my skin, and he shakes me hard—way hard—and I can’t keep my head from jerking.

“Ow, stop,” I plead, but he keeps his hold on me.

“Damn it.” His accent is heavy as his grip tightens. “What are you doing?”

“I needed to talk to you.”

He growls, and I’m trembling. My throat’s constricted. Panic and dread blind me. It looks like Bruno’s running prostitution rings, and that’s a way bigger deal than selling hand jobs upstairs. But the word
sold
in particular freaks me out. I gasp. “That’s an auction?”

“That’s business. Everything is business. I own many businesses, and you do
not
have permission to traipse your ass down here.”

“I just wanted to let you know—I’m sick. The pukes. I’ve gotta go. Can’t do tonight.” No way am I quitting unless it’s in a bright room in public, surrounded by people. Not when he’s shaking me like a rag doll in the dark. “Please. I need to go home.”

His eyes narrow in the dim light, and he releases me. Nerves make my hands sweat and my stomach churn. I don’t know what’s happening down here, but I know it’s not legal. A million really bad thoughts run through my mind, starting with the idea that he’s selling people and ending with the fact that there are people I didn’t know about in the basement,
buying
girls. “Is this the business proposition you had?”

He laughs, releasing my shoulders. “No.”

I want to run, but I can’t help but try to look back at the stage. “Is she okay?”

“Of course.”

“She didn’t look it, Bruno.”

His dark eyes narrow. “Watch yourself, Ginger.”

My gut drops, and I take a step back. “You always call me Emma.”

“You’re going to go on stage, and we’re going to talk about this afterward.”

“My stomach—”

“You. Are. Going to go on stage, and we’ll talk about this later.”

“Bruno,” I whisper, knowing I’m completely blocked in by him. Even if I could get by him, he has several of his security guys posted along my way out, and they’d stop me as soon as word of my escape bled through their earpieces. “You’re scaring me.”

“I think we’ve both known from day one that I’m a scary motherfucker.”

“Not to me, you’re not.” My eyes burn with tears. “I’m sorry I interrupted.”

He remains silent. My knees are shaking.

“Okay, I’ll just head upstairs.”

He steps wordlessly to the side, and I scurry by him. None of the three guards I passed on the way in slows me down, and I haul ass. Finally, I reach the top of the hall and turn toward my locker and vanity. I rummage through my purse, choke down a few swigs of water, and then do a super-fast redo of my eyes. The girl facing me in the mirror is terrified. I barely recognize myself. I’m suddenly scared that I have no idea what to do.

“Two minutes, Ginger,” comes the familiar call from up the stairs.

My hands shake. I call Grayson, even though he’s at work on some super-secret job. It rings… rings.
Shit, shoot,
shit!
No answer. I have no idea what to say. His voicemail picks up. “Hey. Hi. Um. If I don’t talk to you first, I need you to talk to Cherry.” I take a long breath and tears sting my eyes. “I love you.”

“Ginger! Come on up, girl.” The call echoes down the stairs.

Shit.
My God.
I find Cherry’s name and hit Okay. It’s ringing.

“Hey, Emma—”

“Something’s wrong.” My mind spins. “I don’t know what’s happening here, but—”

“Ginger, get your ass up here now!”

One of Bruno’s security guards comes out from the dark hall. “Everything okay?” But there’s nothing nice or concerned with his question. His glare says,
Hang up the damn phone.

I smile. “Just checking on my kid.”

I don’t know why I feel the need to throw that out there. It’s just a quick reminder to everyone that I have loved ones who would notice if I didn’t come home. God. I’m totally overreacting. No one’s going to kill me or anything. But
shit
—what did I just see?

“Emma?” Cherry’s voice is pinched with concern.

“I have to go. Have Ryan pick me up later. Okay? Call Ryan. He’s my ride.”

“Emma! What’s going on—”

I hang up the phone shakily. I’m overreacting. I’m overreacting.

Another guard steps from the dark behind the one glowering at me. Crap. I’m not overreacting. “Just on my way, guys. Jeesh, everyone needs to calm down.”

CHAPTER TWO

Emma

“Ginger Raine!” the announcer’s voice booms.

That’s my cue, and I’m not sure how my legs move forward. But they do, one shaky step at a time. My muscles quiver, my stomach churns, and I’m heading for disaster. I can’t dance—not now, and hopefully never again on this stage.

Trussed up like a sexy, vampy princess, I move to center stage, completely cloaked from the neck down. The train on the robe spreads behind me as I sway. The music pounds. The lights dim, and shadows dance. Every night I’ve performed on this stage, I’ve been heartbroken and purging myself, torturing myself over the man I couldn’t stop loving. But now he’s back.

I shouldn’t be here. But I’m too lost in fear to walk away. My absurd interaction with Bruno has me in a tailspin, and I can’t push away my thoughts. Grayson. Bruno. I’m frozen—I cannot move or see. I can’t do this job and can’t make my body start to dance.